Chapter 7
“Call the police,” Lauren insisted, wheeling into the kitchen.
Mason was still holding the card in his hand. The police. He knew how this worked; he had seen enough movies. Call the police, and chances were Shelby would never be seen again. No. He spun the card around again. By now he had already burned the phone number into his brain, seared it in angry red strokes across the landscape of his mind, written in fury.
“Gabriel,” he whispered. “What have you done?”
Lauren wheeled in close, clutching Mason’s arm, the one holding the phone. “Don’t rush to conclusions. He might be in trouble, just as she is.”
“He was here, goddamnit. I saw him.”
“And you said you saw someone else?”
“Yeah, someone … I don’t know. He was just there for a second, then gone. Red hair, and another one of those weird canes.”
“Call,” Lauren said, her nails digging into the flesh on his arms. “The police or that number, I don’t care, but pick one. This not knowing is killing me.”
Mason held up the phone and dialed. Put it to his ear, looking into his wife’s eyes, seeing all of his fear, his anger, his powerlessness reflected there.
“Mr. Grier?” a voice, smooth as satin.
Through gritted teeth: “Where’s my daughter?”
“Safe. Come in and we’ll talk about her future. And yours.”
“Where?”
“You have the address on the card. I’d advise you to come with all haste. So much to do, you understand. And so little time.”
“I want to talk to her, now.”
“Sorry, she’s indisposed at the moment, but comfortable. I promise you.”
“Then let me talk to my son.”
“That wouldn’t be best right now. You’ll have plenty of time to play catch up tomorrow.”
“What if I play catch up with the police first? Or show up with a gun and put a bullet through your fucking skull?” Mason’s hand clenched the phone so hard he heard the plastic crack.
“Last I checked, a twenty-year-old had to be missing at least twenty-four hours before they’ll consider it a missing person’s case, and since I know you’re not the murdering kind …”
“Damn you, you don’t know what I’m like when someone screws with my family!”
“Be careful with your curses, Mason. Words are weapons.”
“Then listen carefully, asshole. I’ll kill you if …”
“If I’ve harmed a hair on her head, yes I know. Clichés. We’re not in a tired Hollywood thriller here, Mason. Just trust me, show up tomorrow. Bring a gun if you wish, but you won’t need it.”
Mason lowered his head; he was certain his wife could hear some of it, at least, but what she couldn’t hear she could read by the look on his face.
“Why me?” he said at last.
“You’ll find out.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Book yourself an early flight and we’ll see you at nine, Mason, when I will show you the new world.”